


Over Time

by afteriwake



Series: Old Friends And New Adventures [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 12:11:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was regarded as odd. He frightened people. Both of them had people taking care of them who thought therapy was a good idea. How very wrong they were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over Time

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is another series with a twist on the Wholock idea where Sherlock and Amy were in therapy together as children and were not-as-close friends by the time series 5 of Doctor Who aired. The story as a whole came from a Tumblr prompt by **fannishminded** (Sherlock and Amy met in therapy as children: "He was intrigued, she thought he was like her raggedy doctor. She bit the therapist. He deduced he had been sleeping with a patient and to keep silent demanded the therapist let Amy and him use the office for the time of their sessions. They both spent all future “sessions” as a 2 hour chat session. At least till her Aunt twigged on. Those 2 years of therapy were the best sessions either had, and was the closest friendship Sherlock ever had."), and the last part of this story (the longest bit) was an answer to a anonymous prompt on Tumblr of Amy coming to Sherlock's home saying he'd missed her wedding.

They met at therapy. She was the mad girl who thought a man in a blue police box had dropped on her shed. He was constantly getting into fights due to brutal honesty and a talent for picking out exactly what a person had said or done or was thinking. She was regarded as odd. He frightened people. Both of them had people taking care of them who thought therapy was a good idea.

How very wrong they were.

In the end they became friendly, she drawn to his seriousness, him drawn to her sense of adventure. Her Aunt Sharon would drop her off an hour early to just sit in the office, and he would speak with her while she waited. He liked her, because even though she was odd and he was odd they didn’t think each other odd, and they both hated therapy. So he put his skills to good use, deducing that the therapist was sleeping with a client. He demanded that the doctor vacate his office for the two hours that the two of them were there. The next week the doctor left and he invited her in.

Best therapy session either of them had.

\--

“Sherlock, you don’t believe me about my Doctor, do you?” Amy asked one afternoon a few weeks after he got the office for them. She was drawing Sherlock, and he was busy flipping through a book of science experiments that he found to be overly easy.

“No, I do not,” he said, not looking up from the book. “I don’t think police boxes fall out of the sky and land on sheds.”

“Then why are you my friend?”

He paused, but he still didn’t look at her. “You think I’m your friend?”

“Well, duh. You could have had an hour to yourself in this office, but you asked for two hours and invited me in. Course you’re my friend.”

“I don’t have friends,” he said slowly, lowering the book and looking at her. “You’re my first.”

“Really?” she said. She stopped drawing and went over to him, picture in hand. “Here. A present.”

“Is that me?” he asked. “It could definitely use some work.”

He had not been expecting the punch in the shoulder. She hit hard for such a little girl. She stalked off and sat back down. And that was how he learned not to insult Amy’s drawings.

\--

“Let’s listen to some music,” she said, three months after they had taken over the office.

“He doesn’t have a radio,” Sherlock pointed out.

“But you have a violin,” she said, pointing to his case. “Play something.”

“It sounds better when there are more instruments,” he said, but he was already opening his case.

“So?” she said with a shrug. “What can you play?”

“A few things,” he replied. He got out his bow then set the violin under his chin and began to play the concerto they were working on in school. Music was one of the few things he looked forward to as much as these weekly visits with Amelia. He played, wanting to impress her. He finished and she stood up, clapping and grinning widely. “I wasn’t all that good,” he said.

“Stop thinking you’re horrible,” she said. “Can you play Auld Lang Syne?” He nodded. “You play it and I’ll sing.” 

He began to play the song and she sang out in a clear strong voice. He’d never had anyone sing along to something he played, and he found he liked it. They finished and he looked at her. “More, later?”

“Oh, most definitely,” she said.

\--

When they hit a year of spending time together in the office she brought cupcakes from home. Said she’d convinced her aunt to let her make them and take them to school. She’d made a dozen and given two to her friend Mels and two to her friend Rory, and she’d had two. The rest were for them to eat in the two hours they were there.

He wasn’t overly fond of sweets, but she had deduced he wouldn’t mind some with a small amount of icing. White cake with vanilla frosting was what she brought, and he found himself eating his entire share. They had a small party in the office. “This is better than my last birthday party,” he said.

“How so?” she asked, licking the frosting off one of her cupcakes.

“My parents invited all these dreadful people. Didn’t have anyone there I actually liked.”

“My birthday’s next month. Want to come to my party?” she asked.

He blinked. “Are you sure?”

“Course I am,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’re one of my best friends.”

“Okay, I’ll be there.”

And when her birthday party rolled around, he had to admit he was glad to be there.

\--

It was the day before New Year's Eve when they kissed. She said her friend Mels had just gotten her first kiss, from some boy he couldn’t care less about. She’d asked if he’d gotten a kiss, and he said no. She said she hadn’t either and didn’t see what the fuss was about. He suggested they run an experiment, using themselves as test subjects: they kiss each other and see what was such a big deal.

It was a quick kiss, nothing special. She said she didn’t feel anything, and he said he didn’t either. He was lying of course. He felt glad that she had been his first kiss, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. She shrugged and went back to her drawing, and he went back to his book, and then they said nothing more about it.

But right before the two hours was up, she kissed him again, longer. It surprised him very much, and she said the second time was better than the first. He gave her a puzzled look, but she just grinned and said an experiment should be run more than once to ensure the results. He could appreciate that logic.

\--

They went beyond the two hour “therapy” sessions now. She called him on the phone, he called her on the phone, and they wrote letters to each other. He marveled at how nice it was to have a friend, a real friend. But of course, it wasn’t going to last.

They got almost another year together before her aunt found out. Showed up early to pick her up, saw the two of them alone in the office and threw a fit. Yanked Amelia out of there with yelling, telling her she was forbidden to talk to him. The phone calls stopped, but the letters continued. She had them routed through her friend Mels. But eventually, even the letters stopped, and he found himself alone again, the spark of light in his life gone.

It wasn’t until he was twenty, in a haze of drugs and alcohol, that she found him again. She started getting him clean. She drug him back to her home, watched him carefully as he went through withdrawals. He hit her once when he thought she was his brother, but she calmed him down and set him right.

She saved his life, and he wouldn’t forget that.

\--

No one was in the flat. John was shopping, Mrs. Hudson was out, and it was just peace and quiet. Peace and quiet until he heard an insistent banging at the door. He grimaced, then ignored it. The banging stopped, but just as he remembered the front door was unlocked he looked up and saw Amelia standing there.

“You weren’t at my wedding,” she said, arms crossed and eyes glaring.

“I sent a gift,” he replied.

“And while I thank you for the gift I wanted you there,” she said.

“I had a case.”

She rolled her eyes. “You could have taken an hour out to sit in a church and watch your oldest friend get married.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking at her. Her stance softened and she uncrossed her arms. She knew him well, and knew he rarely apologized. She knew that indeed he meant this apology.

“Apology accepted,” she said. Then she got a sly grin. “Well, you would have had an interesting surprise if you’d been at the reception. I had an unexpected guest.”

“Who?” he asked.

“The Doctor.”

Now it was his time to roll his eyes. “Really, Amelia. It’s been over ten years.”

“Right.” She turned and stuck her head out. “Come on in!” she called to the door. Within a few moments a man came in along with Rory. “Sherlock, meet the Doctor.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. This man looked exactly like the man he had seen her draw for so many years, once her art skills had improved. “Hello, I’m the Doctor,” the man in the tweed coat and bow tie said.

“I’m Sherlock Holmes,” he said, slowly extending his hand.

“I know,” the Doctor said with a grin. “Amy’s told me a lot about you. And I need your help.”

“My help?” he asked.

“Greatest mind in the century, of course I need your help. We just need to take a quick trip.”

“To where?”

“Ancient Greece.”

Amy was watching him with a smirk. She came up and put a hand on his shoulder. “Just say yes. You won’t regret it.”

“Fine,” he said, looking at his old friend. “I’ll come with you.”

She squealed and threw her arms around his shoulders. “Oh, believe me, you won’t regret this, Sherlock. I promise you’ll have the adventure of your life.”

And his oldest friend was right. He did, indeed, have quite the adventure.


End file.
